


sudden fragrance

by sannlykke



Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: Heian Period, Historical Fantasy, M/M, NijiAka Week
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-09
Updated: 2017-04-09
Packaged: 2018-10-16 21:54:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,776
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10580238
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sannlykke/pseuds/sannlykke
Summary: Nijimura Shuuzou, on a long journey away from home, gets an unexpected visitor as he sleeps.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> happy nijiaka day! (it's still 4/9 somewhere around the world right...)
> 
> prince!nijimura & youkai!akashi fic for the prompt of the day (AU)...you can find the chapters in chinese[here](http://sann-lykke.tumblr.com/post/155298396464/) which i also wrote (badly), if you're also interested!
> 
> this is definitely more pre-nijiaka than actual nijiaka but ... yeah, lol.
> 
> hope y'all enjoy _(:'3

墻角數枝梅，淩寒獨自開。

遙知不是雪，為有暗香來。

—《梅花》・ 王安石

 

* * *

 

 

The snow is unusually heavy this year.

When he awakens, the plum tree outside his window was still cloaked in white, with no hint of color showing through. Shuuzou yawns, closing a hand over his mouth, and hears the sound of approaching footsteps. _Time to get up._

But the fatigue that had accompanied him throughout the journey had yet to leave. Chang’an is leagues from the sea, with the cold winds howling down from the plains chillier than anything he’d felt before. That had usually kept the snow from piling up, but this year is different. He shuffles out of the covers sluggishly, searching around for suitable clothes to wear, then hesitates

The door opens.

“You up already too?”

“Oi, don’t tell me you’ve forgotten, we’re meeting the prince today–”

“Of course I haven’t, just don’t remind me…”

Shuuzou grumbles as he shuts the door, but the sound of Kubota’s humming gets to him all the same. Despite only being a minor prince he’d been roped into this trip nonetheless as part of some cultural exchange program the _kuge_ were cooking up–never mind that he’d barely had time to properly study Chinese in a way that could prove useful. Still, he’d come, and as awkward as passing scrolls back and forth in silence is he’d have to get through it all the same.

He crosses the freezing hallway out back to the wash-room, careful to mind his steps. When he is done cleaning up and wrapping himself with layers upon layers of heavy robes he emerges from the room to look out over the white expanse of the garden, and something flashes before his eyes.

“Hm?”

Shuuzou frowns at the snow, but there is not a single trace of prints. “Guess I’m not fully awake yet, huh…”

Well. He’d have to save his energy for the meeting later, so might as well.

The moment his head hits the pillow, Shuuzou thinks he smells something familiar.

“Hey…”

“Shh, you should get some rest, Nijimura-dono,” Sekiguchi says, a touch of annoyance in his voice. “Kubota, you let him drink too much again–”

“Come on, it’s just the wine here is so~much stronger than what we have, don’t you think?”

“…I think you’re drunk, too.”

Someone lights the oil lamp behind him, though Nijimura can’t see who it is. Kubota and Sekiguchi bicker for a while, but soon enough they leave him, and the room is silent once more.

After tossing and turning in bed for a while, he simply cannot overcome the curiosity that has started to eat at him.

Shuuzou walks–wobbles, mostly, but he’s fine, _fine_ –towards the window, pulling aside the papery thin curtains. In the moonlight the branches of the plum tree seem to glow, and he remembers then the wizened plum in the courtyard of his own home, with its brilliant red flowers that bloomed in late winter. When he’d been younger he used to play underneath it with his siblings, running around until they were out of breath or until the servants came to shoo them indoors.

Strange, he thinks now, looking at the bare branches, he’d never seen flowers quite as red as the one back home, nor a scent as strong.

“Is it time?” He asks idly, as he reaches out to sweep the snow away.

“I suppose it is.”

“?!” The voice, unfamiliar, had come from somewhere right next to his ear. Shuuzou turns, all traces of sleepiness vanished, a hand gripping the blade he kept on him at all times. But there is nobody else in the dimly-lit room.

He turns back, and with great surprise discovers that already there is a single flower in bloom on the branch closest to him, its petals a beguiling shade of crimson.

“What in the world…”

“Do you like it?”

Only now does Shuuzou realize the person, whoever it is, is speaking to him in his own language. _But how?_ The only people he knew from home were the ones in his retinue, and he knew every one of their voices. Could it be–

Out of the corner of his eye he sees something moving, and this time Shuuzou cuts down on it without thinking. Then, he freezes.

The person had stepped aside easily, and, though the light seems to flicker, he can clearly tell something is amiss. After all, people do not usually float in the air.

“A youkai?!”

“Now, maybe you should calm down a little, no?”

_How can I be calm?_ Shuuzou thinks, holding his sword out before him as the other person descends to the ground. The man’s hair, windswept, and his eyes–both are a shade of red that he is sure could not be found in humans. And though he was taller, Shuuzou feels he is the one being looked down upon as he looks up, unable to process.

“I’m not going to eat you, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

“…And you expect me to believe that.”

The firelight flickers once more, and Shuuzou realizes there is a cut on the other’s sleeve. When he looks back up at the youkai’s face he sees the tiniest trace of approval in those otherworldly eyes. “Your instincts have always been quick, Nijimura Shuuzou.”

“How the hell do you know my name?”

“Have you already forgotten me, though it’s only been a few days?”

“What are you talking about?”

He points at the window just as a sudden gust of wind throws the curtains apart, extinguishing the dying flame. Shuuzou moves to shield himself, but is hit with the scent again, stronger and fuller this time.

– _It’s the plum_ , he thinks, his eyes widening. _The tree from back home. It’s the same scent_. He tries to step forward, but finds he cannot move even an inch.

“Who _are_ you?”

There is a quiet laugh. “My name, you mean? I am Akashi.”

“Huh?”

“Remember it. We will meet again.”

In the next moment several things happen: Shuuzou drops his blade, almost collapsing to the floor as he finds himself able to move again, saved only by him grabbing onto the side of a table next to him. Then, when he looks up again sharply, there is nobody there.

He shivers as he comes to his feet again, feeling slightly woozy. _Akashi? Where have I heard that name before?_

But in the moonlight spilled across his floor there are only shadows of branches moving in the wind, and a lingering, almost imperceptible scent of plum blossoms.


	2. Chapter 2

君自故鄉來，應知故鄉事。

來日倚窗前，寒梅著花未？

《雜詩》・ 王維

 

* * *

 

 

As busy as the streets of Hangzhou are at normal times, it is nothing like the days leading up to the new year.

Though they do not celebrate in quite the same fashion, the bustling streets have quite certainly infected Shuuzou and his retinue with the holiday spirit. After being warmly received by the duke of the city, they’d decided to explore the streets together, as a last minute sort of experience.

“Hey, look at this teapot, isn’t it pretty? It’s Wuxi clay, I think—”

“I’m hungry…”

“Come on, keep a lookout for the presents we need to bring back.”

The travel from Chang’an to Jinling had been arduous, as had the boat ride down the river to Hangzhou, but soon enough they would be looking homeward, after the new year passes. Though the past weeks had been rough going, their reward had been a slightly warmer south, with many of the trees already in full bloom across town. Shuuzou looks back at the bickering two behind him, sighs, then decides abruptly to cut across the street, towards the riverside path running parallel to the markets. Here, though the air is still fraught with winter’s breath, he finds it an easier joy.

The wind takes to him then, and he pulls his coat tighter around himself, watching a shower of petals fly into the river. Shuuzou looks into the water in curiosity, then freezes: there is someone beside him, reflected in its mirror-like depths.

“You!”

When he’d woken after that night in Chang’an, he’d found no trace of even a bud on the tree outside. Shuuzou had chalked it all up to drunken hallucinations, especially given the lack of any further strange rumors inside that palace. He hadn’t wanted to alarm Sekiguchi or Kubota or especially their hosts, if it had just been a figment of his imagination. And it _had_ been just that, he’d thought.

Until now.

“We meet again, Nijimura-dono.” Akashi says, his smile like a knife cutting through the last remnants of his peace of mind. His robes, white patterns on grey, are styled in the Chinese fashion this time, and Shuuzou could see stubborn petals clinging to his red hair. And Shuuzou could not help but see that his feet are bare, even in the snow.

“Akashi? You…you’re real?”

“Of course,” he replies. “And you needn’t look for your sword, it’s here.”

A few moments of confusion pass before Shuuzou’s hand reaches for his belt, but he discovers nothing there. “I, y—could you _not_ take my things like that?”

“I’ve only borrowed it for a short while.” Akashi raises said object to his face, his sharp eyes reflected in the wavelike patterns across the blade’s surface. “Hm.”

“Oi!” Without a further word Shuuzou reaches over and snatches it back, careful this time to not cut either of them. Under the sunny skies it seems even more unreal that _this_ is happening, though the residual warmth on the hilt of his blade suggests there is nothing more real than what he sees. “So why are you following me? Don’t tell me I accidentally knocked over some cursed object or—”

“Should you not know by now?”

“Don’t play word games with me,” Shuuzou growls, but the waves across the river surface catches his attention. White petals fall against his face like snow, and he stops, staring at Akashi, who in turn is watching the boats with little concern for his footing. “The plum…tree?”

“Mm.” Now Akashi is watching him as a cat would a mouse between its paws, and suddenly Shuuzou felt a nervous, unfamiliar tingle down the back of his spine. Growing up, he’d heard so many fantastical tales about the supernatural, yet it had never occurred to him that he would be speaking to one of them now. “I suppose I should thank you, for I’ve never been this far from home before.”

“Then, well, why—“

“Why I came with you, you mean.”

“Um, yes.”

His gaze sweeps from the running water to Akashi’s eyes, and the flash of some emotion there gave Shuuzou a start. “There’s…nobody home now, is there?”

Shuuzou had moved away from that place at fifteen, into the imperial city. His father’s illness had been at its worst then, and their estate in the countryside had become little more than a place for an occasional yearly gathering. Even his siblings don’t visit very often anymore, he reflects.

What happened to all those courtyards, all of those flowers? He doesn’t know.

The little fishing-boats rowed past them leisurely one by one, as if none of them saw the two standing at the banks. Akashi nods at the water, and yet the scene in Shuuzou’s eyes almost seems rife with melancholy.

“I wanted to see more of the world.”

Shuuzou purses his lips, sliding his sword back into its scabbard. “Tch, don’t beat around the bush. Are all youkai like this?”

“Oi, Nijimura!”

“There you are, I thought we’d lost track of you—“

He raises his head sharply, seeing Sekiguchi and Kubota walking towards him. Shuuzou frowns, looking back, and sees that Akashi is not there anymore.

“What are you looking at?” Kubota asks curiously, his hands laden with all manner of strange objects that Shuuzou doesn’t even want to know the cost for. They’ll be yelled at once they return, he’s sure.

“Just the river,” Shuuzou says. “Nothing much to see.”

* * *

Once he returns to his room, Shuuzou heads immediately to his window.

“I’ll put this here, then.”

“Yes, that’s fine. Make sure it doesn’t fall.”

Though the room is simple, there’s an elegance to it Shuuzou finds comforting. Next to the rounded window hangs a scroll of painting: the inky black limbs of a plum tree laden with flowers the color of blush. When he bends down to put away his clothing, a faint scent of sandalwood greets him, and something else as well.

“You can follow anywhere there’s a plum tree, right?”

“I would rather use the word ‘arrive.’”

“Did I say something wrong?

Akashi only smiles at him in the way that suggests so.

_(It is a little cold in here, isn’t it?)_

Shuuzou stands up, staring hard at him. “I mean, in all honesty, you aren’t some assassin sent to kill me, are you?”

“Still not letting your defenses down, I see,” Akashi says, pulling up a chair. He sits on it in a fashion that would not be out of place on an emperor’s throne, and Shuuzou could not help but twitch at the thought. “I don’t believe Nijimura-dono’s position is of any threat to the current political atmosphere, is it?”

“…Oi.”

“Did I say something wrong?”

“…”

“Of course, if I had been sent to do such a thing—“ Shuuzou takes a sharp breath as he feels cold fingers against his cheek, freezing until Akashi takes his hand away. “—it would have been an easy feat.”

He is standing close, so close. There is a wisp of red hair against his chin, and Shuuzou can almost taste something sweet—a little sour. He takes a step back, blinking; even with his unruly reputation of ignoring court customs growing up, this is the first time someone had acted so carelessly rude in his presence. “You…even then, you’re crossing a line with this.”

“Things should be done quickly and decisively, Nijimura-dono.”

Shuuzou sighs. “…Alright, whatever. As long as you don’t bother me, carry on.”

* * *

Nightfall.

Sometimes Shuuzou would see a flash of red in the mirror, or a strange sound of footsteps that did not belong to any of them while he tries to make small talk with the duke. But considering the consequences were he to tell his host about a potential haunting, Shuuzou keeps his mouth shut.

At least Akashi hadn’t really bothered him.

Maybe youkai from his own hometown were less disturbing, Shuuzou wonders, then shakes his head. Considering Akashi’s cavalier attitude towards addressing him and how he walks through the place as if it belongs to the youkai alone, he doubts this is true.

“Don’t you have anything better to do?”

Though Shuuzou knows it isn’t true, Akashi seems to not have moved all afternoon, sitting in front of the table with a large tome in front of his face— _Records of the Grand Historian_. So he’s interested in this type of book, he thinks, but as he turns to go he feels a hand on his wrist.

“Maybe you should stop grabbing me whenever you feel like it.”

“Oh.” Akashi does not apologize, but he drops his hand all the same. “You don’t find this interesting, but it’s important reading.”

“Is it?” Shuuzou says, unmoved.

“What the past doesn’t forget will be a lesson to the future.” He looks up, the firelight dancing in his eyes, and Shuuzou stares in awe. “The emperor will pass soon, you know. There will be turbulent times.”

“So you’re here to warn me of impending doom?”

There are things that humans can’t see, Shuuzou knows, that can only come from the mouths of demons and gods. Akashi looks at him briefly, fingertips touching his chin, then shakes his head.

“Not entirely. Only that you are here to hear it.”

“Oh.” _Can you see all of the future?_ Shuuzou wants to ask, but without knowing what sort of answer he might get, settles for sitting across from Akashi and watching him flip through the yellowed pages.

The flickering light pulls shadows long and short across his features, sharp yet delicate. Perhaps, Shuuzou thinks, he is too reckless to be afraid, but there’s a strange sort of homey ambience in simply sitting here listening to the sound of moving paper. He unwinds his belt, placing it sword, scabbard and all on the table.

Akashi does not lift his head, but Shuuzou catches the corners of his mouth twitching upward. He leans forward, placing a hand on one of the pages.

“Is there something I can do for you, Nijimura-dono?”

Shuuzou points at the tree in full bloom outside.

“Can you tell me what it’s like, back home?”

**Author's Note:**

> title taken from a verse of wang mian's poetry.


End file.
